


The Wolf and the Cross

by brokibrodinson



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Bondage, Cock Rings, Father/Son Incest, M/M, Power Dynamics, Templar Connor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-04
Updated: 2016-01-04
Packaged: 2018-05-11 17:24:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5635462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokibrodinson/pseuds/brokibrodinson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A mission, a reward, and a promotion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Wolf and the Cross

**Author's Note:**

  * For [its-like-instinct](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=its-like-instinct).



> Happy New Year everyone! 
> 
> I wrote this for its-like-instinct as part of the [Secret Santa 2015](conhaythsecretsanta2015.tumblr.com) on tumblr with Templar!Connor as a prompt. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy! <3

Stalking silently across the rooftops, Connor Kenway – Templar prodigy and Master-in-Training – felt a warm flush of pride. This was an exceedingly important mission, the Grand Master had said, sending Connor on his way. Connor felt honoured that his father had seen fit to entrust him with such a task.

An Assassin spy was reportedly in possession of a letter that could prove severely incriminating for the Order as a whole if it fell into the wrong hands. Connor was charged with retrieving this letter, using as much force as was necessary.

It would not be easy. As much as Connor would like to storm the building that the Assassin had taken refuge in, it was far too great a risk. He had no way of knowing how many other Assassins were lurking within its walls. He could take two or three on his own, depending on their skill level, but any more than that and it was unlikely he would escape unscathed.

No, this operation required careful planning and stealth.

Thankfully, his father had made sure he was as well-versed in these areas as he was in combat. Not all Templars were – free running and the art of concealment weren’t required knowledge like they were in the Assassin Brotherhood. Another Templar, Shay, had such skills, but then, he had once been an Assassin, Connor remembered.

Perching on a rooftop opposite to the building that housed his target, Connor activated his Eagle Vision.

There – through a gap in the curtains on one of the windows he saw a brief flash of gold.

He would have preferred the Assassin to be asleep, but at least this way he knew where he was and would be able to flush him out.

Connor dropped down to street level, careful to stay in the shadows. Night had long fallen, and there was no one about to see him quietly and efficiently set up a trip mine on the ground, but caution had been drummed into him from a young age. His trap now set, he climbed up the side of the Assassin’s building until he was back up at roof level, making sure he was in line with the window where he had spied his target.

He pulled his bow off his back and checked the bowstring before pulling an arrow from his quiver and nocking it.

Taking careful aim down at the street, he let the arrow fly straight into the centre of the mine, activating it with a sharp bang.

Quickly lining up another arrow, Connor took a deep breath and waited.

As expected, heads started appearing out of windows almost immediately. Connor ignored the confused murmuring, his gaze resting solely on a single window.

Finally the window was pushed open and a man’s head appeared, highlighted vibrantly in gold.

Connor released his arrow, watching it fly silently through the air and embed itself deeply in the top of his target’s skull. In his shock, the man lost his balance and toppled over the windowsill, falling several storeys before hitting the ground with a sickening thud.

A woman screamed and the street erupted into chaos, but not before Connor swiftly lowered himself down and slipped in through the open window.

The room was dark, but Connor didn’t have time to light a candle. Thankfully his Eagle Vision went a long way towards helping him see in the shadows. He began sifting through the papers on the desk, looking for any letters bearing familiar seals.

After several minutes had passed, his senses alerted him to an unfamiliar presence in the room. Pistol in hand, he whipped around to face the doorway, teeth bared in a snarl.

A tall slender man stood there, his Assassin robes well-tailored, his hidden blade glinting in the dim light. “Looking for this?” he drawled, an envelope held loosely between two fingers.

Connor recognised him immediately. James Braxton, Master Assassin and persistent thorn in the side of the Templar Order.

If he was here, then the Assassins’ operation must be even more important than that of a single letter, Connor thought quickly. If so, it was his duty to find out what it was.

He holstered his pistol, forcibly relaxing his stance. “I thought you were still in Boston,” he said.

Braxton laughed. “‘Boston?’ I haven’t been there for months! Terribly dull place, truth be told. Here,” he offered Connor the letter. “Take it. Or don’t,” he shrugged as Connor didn’t move, letting the envelope flutter to the floor. “I don’t particularly care.”

“What is your game here?” Connor growled.

Braxton smiled sharply at him. “A ruse,” he said. “There was no letter.” He drew his sword in one smooth motion. “All we wanted was _you_.”

Connor wondered who had fed his father false information. Haytham would be _furious_. But there would be time to find that out later.

He drew his tomahawk and charged.

Braxton’s answering parry was smooth, and far too self-assured for Connor’s liking. He was a dangerous man, to be certain, but if he wasn’t careful it was his own confidence that would be his downfall.

Even as he circled his smiling foe, Connor’s mind was racing, searching for a strategy. His superior strength and size would not help him here, not with Braxton’s skill and speed with a blade.

But perhaps... Perhaps he could turn Braxton’s own assumptions against him. When the Assassin looked at Connor did he see a trained Templar agent? Or just a mindless brute sent to do its master’s bidding?

Connor thought he knew which.

Setting his mouth grimly, he formulated a plan. His father had not raised a fool.

As Braxton darted and feinted around him, blade seeking to slash and cut, Connor remained on the defensive, responding with deliberate sluggishness. Let Braxton underestimate him, he thought fiercely. It would make his victory all the sweeter.

Deflecting only the deadliest of blows, Connor’s coat was soon spotted with his blood from shallow cuts and gashes.

Braxton paused in his assault to scoff at him. “Are you not the son of Grand Master Kenway?” he jeered. “Would he not be ashamed to see this rather lacklustre performance by one of his Order’s agents?”

His tone turned nastier. “How disappointed Daddy must be, to have such an incompetent son. Do you suppose he would spank you, were you to return so unsuccessfully?”

Connor knew full well the Assassin was just trying to rile him, to make him lose his temper and thus compromise his defence. Unfortunately for Braxton, this particular approach would not work.

To Braxton’s obvious surprise and dismay, Connor only smirked darkly. “Oh, I do hope so,” he murmured, blood heating at the very thought.

The older man’s expression twisted in disgust. “ _Templars_ ,” he spat, trying to cover the lapse in his composure with an especially vicious lunge.

At last...

Connor sprung his trap, using the man’s momentum against him by darting to the side, faster than Braxton could ever have expected considering his slowness up until this point. Taking advantage of Braxton’s momentary imbalance, Connor slammed his full weight against the Assassin’s back, pinning him against the wall with his tomahawk locked tightly under his throat.

Perhaps usually he would have taken this opportunity to question the man, but Braxton was too dangerous and slippery to be given such a chance to escape. Drawing the sharp edge of his weapon across Braxton’s pale throat, Connor grimaced as he felt hot blood spurt over his wrists, his foe’s struggles ceasing abruptly.

Taking a step back, Connor watched impassively as James Braxton crumpled to the floor, his sharp eyes now dull and lifeless.

Seeing the shine of the Assassin’s hidden blade fastened to his wrist, Connor crouched next to him and unbuckled it, intending to keep it as proof of his triumph over the man. Perhaps he would even be allowed to keep it for himself.

Connor looked around him and spotted the letter Braxton had taunted him with earlier. Tearing open the envelope, he quickly scanned its contents, exhaling in irritation. Perhaps Braxton told the truth after all and there was no letter. What he currently held was a mere trade receipt for the purchase of tobacco, and was certainly of no use to the Order.

He tucked it into his coat anyway. As much as he’d like to tear the offending letter into tiny pieces, he knew the Grand Master might like to inspect it himself, and wouldn’t be impressed if he found Connor had destroyed it in a fit of pique.

Scanning the room one last time, Connor froze as he heard the sound of marching and the low pounding of a military drum. The guards had been called. It was time to go.

 

Haytham Kenway paced the floor of his drawing room, face set in cold, biting anger.

His son, watching him from where he sat in a nearby armchair, was privately relieved his black mood was not directed at him.

“They would have been clever about this,” Haytham seethed quietly. “They would have been careful to keep their informant from my gaze, or I would have read their true allegiance with a glance.”

“How will we find them, sir?” Connor asked curiously.

Haytham glanced at him. “I’ll issue an order in the morning to have all Order informants report to me. They will have no reason to disobey, so any that do will instantly be regarded with suspicion. If our spy does have the nerve to show his face, well. Our shared ability will identify him easily enough.”

Connor nodded, then stifled a yawn. He’d come to report to Haytham directly upon returning from his mission, and after all the excitement and adrenaline he was beginning to feel quite weary.

“Forgive me, Connor,” his father said softly, sharp eyes not missing a thing. “I did not intend to overshadow your performance with my concerns about these revelations. Your victory over Braxton is to be congratulated. Well done.”

To some it might have sounded like half-hearted praise at best, but Haytham was not a man given to idle compliments. To Connor this was high praise indeed.

“Thank you, sir,” he said, flushing with pleasure.

Haytham smiled slightly; the first indication of warmth he’d shown all evening. “You may keep his hidden blade for yourself if you wish,” he said. “If so, I expect you to begin training with it as soon as possible.”

Connor nodded. “Of course. Thank you.” It was all very well to possess such a weapon, but it was useless if he was not familiar enough with it to use it.

The Grand Master idly examined his own hidden blade before clasping his hands behind his back. “The Assassin Brotherhood must be in uproar knowing that we now have _three_ Templars with hidden blades within our ranks,” he commented with some satisfaction. He shot Connor a sly glance. “Come here, son.”

The younger man tried not to look too eager as he rose to his feet and moved to stand in front of his father, posture straight and chin raised.

Haytham looked him over, eyeing his bloodstained cuffs and tears in his sleeves where Braxton’s blade had cut him before raising his gaze to Connor’s face. He chuckled quietly, using one hand to cup his son’s jaw and stroke teasing fingertips along his cheek. “Did that cad Braxton truly try to use me against you?” he asked.

Connor smirked. “He did.”

“A tack that rather backfired I should say,” Haytham murmured, and leaned in to graze Connor’s lips with his own.

Connor moaned to feel the gentle touch, trying to lean forward in a bid for more, but Haytham just grinned, eyes glinting wickedly as his hand held Connor firmly in place.

“Tell me, Connor,” he said, his thumb now tracing the other Templar’s bottom lip. “What were his exact words?”

Connor parted his lips to let the tip of his father’s thumb slide into his mouth, laving it with his tongue and enjoying the way Haytham’s eyes darkened at the gesture before the digit was withdrawn. “He asked,” Connor began, voice already rough with desire, “if you would spank me for such a poor showing.”

Haytham raised an eyebrow. “Indeed?” he asked lazily, but Connor knew better than to be fooled by his apparent disregard.

“I had planned to lower his defences by letting him believe I was incompetent,” Connor explained, relieved when the sharp look in his father’s eyes disappeared. He would hate the Grand Master to think the same.

“Ah,” Haytham said simply, then smirked. “You’re altogether too big to spank these days.”

Connor was inclined to disagree, but his thoughts were interrupted when he was kissed again, deep and lingering, his father’s body pressing closer against his as arms wrapped him in a loose embrace. Melting eagerly into the kiss, Connor was disappointed when it ended, following almost blindly as he was led into the Grand Master’s bedroom. The door was shut behind them with a muted click.

Now safe within this private space, Connor was soon being kissed again, this time heated and filthy, a devious hand reaching down to cup him in the fork of his breeches.

Connor groaned, trying to press closer to the contact, and whining as the teasing pressure was removed.

“Down you get,” Haytham ordered huskily.

Heart beating in anticipation at the command and all it entailed, Connor sank to his knees, watching hungrily as Haytham’s trousers were unlaced and pushed out of the way, revealing his flushed and erect cock.

Not waiting for further permission, Connor reached out with one hand to stroke him a few times, enjoying the way his father’s breath stuttered audibly at the contact.

Only he was allowed the liberty of servicing the Grand Master in this way, and he revelled in the privilege of doing so. His father, handsome, charming and powerful, enthralled him, as he did so many other Templars in their ranks, but it was Connor whose training he took a special interest in, and whom he shared his bed with.

Leaning in to let his breath dance teasingly along Haytham’s hardened cock, Connor smiled to himself as the older man growled impatiently and tugged at his hair.

Obedient as always, he took the head of Haytham’s shaft between his lips and began to lick and suck, giving special attention to those areas he knew his father was especially sensitive. He was very well trained.

As he took him deeper into his mouth, he delighted in the quiet sigh of pleasure he heard from above, satisfied by nothing more than being on his knees for his beloved leader.

Determined to wring as many groans as he could from the tight-lipped Templar, he opened his throat and swallowed him deep, employing his tongue to thoroughly explore the various veins and ridges of his father’s cock.

The resulting sharp intake of breath was music to his ears, and he continued until at last, panting and gasping, Haytham came down his throat, one hand tight in his son’s hair to force him to swallow.

Connor expected nothing less.

His own erection throbbed and his throat felt a bit raw, but he dutifully relaced Haytham’s drawers and trousers, smoothing them down lovingly before letting himself be pulled to his feet with a strong hand.

He soon found himself pinned against the bedroom wall, a firm thigh pushed up between his own and pressed deliberately against his neglected cock.

Connor moaned, holding onto Haytham’s shoulders as he rutted shamelessly against the proffered limb, feeling rather dizzy with gratitude at the generosity he was being shown.

Haytham watched with indolent hunger, remaining a passive participant as he allowed his son to grind against him until at last he came in his tailored trousers with a gasp and a shudder. Patiently, the Grand Master let himself be used to steady the younger man while he caught his breath.

Stepping away, he gestured to his bed. “Sleep now,” he ordered. “I’ll be with you momentarily.” He had an official notice to write after all.

Connor was too drained to argue, and after stripping off his blood-and-come stained clothing, he gave himself a good clean and then slipped into the luxurious sheets of his father’s bed.

He was half-asleep when Haytham returned, hearing him methodically undress and hang up each article of clothing before feeling him slide under the covers next to him.

Haytham was not prone to cuddling, but he did not complain when Connor sleepily turned to face him and shaped his body to fit against him.

They slept like that, peaceful and loosely entwined.

 

The next few days were rather chaotic for Haytham as he hastened to weed out the Order’s spy. Connor deliberately stayed out his way, busying himself with mastering his new hidden blade.

Engrossed with this new element to his training, he was taken wholly by surprise when, a week later, it was announced that he was ready to be promoted to the rank of Master Templar.

Having attended several ceremonies for other Templars previously, Connor had long dreamed of the day he would be given his own ring that marked him as a Knight of the Templar Order, and one of the deadliest members of their Rite.

Head held high, he gave his answers to the sacramental questions with pride, and despite the solemnity of the proceedings, couldn’t prevent a small smile as the Grand Master at last slipped the cross-adorned ring onto his finger.

“I have another ring for you later,” Haytham murmured slyly, causing Connor’s cheeks to flush, a sudden burst of lust heating his blood.

Haytham stepped back and concluded the ceremony, formally welcoming Connor into the Order and leaving his son to be congratulated by each of the other Templars present.

There was a celebration held that evening in a nearby tavern, which certain Templars such as Thomas Hickey took as an excuse to get roaring drunk (not that he usually needed an excuse, Charles Lee commented snidely).

Given that such revelries were being held in his honour, Connor was forced to stay for an hour or two at least before he could retire Haytham’s rooms and begin their own private celebration.

At last he was able to extricate himself from an overly-amorous barmaid, and escape the crowded tavern.

Reaching Haytham’s estate, he silently slipped into the master bedroom where he knew his father would be waiting for him.

“Took you long enough,” Haytham drawled; he himself had made only a token appearance at the tavern before disappearing.

“I apologise. I was rather tied up,” Connor replied, pleased as he saw the exact moment Haytham caught sight of the lipstick stains on his cheek.

Haytham’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “You will be in a minute,” he growled, rising from his chair. “Take off your clothes and get on the bed.”

Connor did as he was told, sprawling out on his back and allowing Haytham to secure his wrists to the bedframe with one of the ribbons he used for his hair. It wasn’t the first time he’d been restrained in such a way.

Once he was satisfied that Connor wasn’t going anywhere, Haytham withdrew an object from his coat pocket.

“Do you know what this is?” he asked.

It was a ring, larger than the one on Connor’s finger, and plain in design. He shook his head. During the ceremony he could tell from Haytham’s tone that he was planning something sexual in nature, but he wasn’t sure of the exact purpose of such a device.

“Ah.” Haytham looked pleased, eyes gleaming. “Allow me to demonstrate.”

Moving closer, he leaned over Connor and carefully eased the ring over his half-hard shaft to nestle against his body above his testicles.

Connor wasn’t certain he liked the foreign sensation at first, but was still eagerly responsive as Haytham teased his cock with slow strokes of his hand, soon bringing him to full hardness.

Now Connor began to grasp the purpose of the ring. Now that he was swollen with arousal, the ring was tight around his length, though was not painful, and as Haytham continued to stroke him, he realised that he would be prevented from orgasming while wearing it.

“Do all new Templars get two rings?” he asked with a stroke of mischief, but was swiftly silenced by the demanding kiss that was pressed against his mouth.

“Just you,” Haytham replied seriously when he pulled away, and then gave him a wicked look. “Do you like it?”

“I don’t know yet,” Connor replied honestly. “Is it meant to feel so...” he trailed off, unsure of how to describe the restrictive sensation.

Haytham looked him over, then without warning moved down to lap teasingly at Connor’s balls, his tongue slipping under the ring to taste the cold metal against the hot flesh.

Connor _keened_ , fingers grasping at the bedframe he was bound to and his toes curling as Haytham suckled at his sensitised skin.

His father was relentless, moving up to lick at where the ring pressed against his cock, probing under the metal as he used one hand to lightly fondle his testicles.

Connor writhed and cursed and panted as he was mercilessly tortured with obscene pleasure. Unable even to reach the sweet oblivion of release, he was forced to stay still and take every second of ecstasy that the Grand Master deigned to bestow.

His eyes were soon wet with tears, body taut with tension as it was wracked with each pleasurable sensation, Haytham’s devious mouth now sucking lightly at the head of his cock.

“ _Please_ ,” Connor begged, sounding utterly broken. “Please, enough. I can’t. I _can’t_.”

Raising his head, Haytham took in the state of him, a satisfied smile spreading across his face. He stroked Connor’s cheek with lazy affection, noting the wetness of his tears. “Very well,” he relented, and, with the help of some oil, gingerly eased the ring off his son’s cock.

Giving Connor one last stroke of his wrist, he watched smugly as Connor cried out, spilling all over his stomach and orgasming so hard that for a moment he lost consciousness.

Haytham took this moment to carefully clean the ring and put it safely away in the box it had come in. He had released Connor’s wrists and was dragging a wet towel over his soiled torso as Connor blinked back awake.

“ _Father_ ,” he breathed, impressed. “You have ruined me.”

Haytham just smiled.

“Welcome to the Order, Connor,” he said proudly.


End file.
